


Oh, What a Beautiful Wedding.

by bellatrix_black_Lestrange (bellatrix_black_lestrange)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Branding, F/M, Light BDSM, Voyeurism, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatrix_black_lestrange/pseuds/bellatrix_black_Lestrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange's wedding day has finally come after their long, arranged betrothal, but before they can retire for the night, they receive a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings are in the tags, but I'll say it again: there's bdsm, bloodplay, forced voyeurism. There's quite a lot of exposition leading up to the actual smut so I've separated it into two chapters for convenience. Also haha, it's really fitting that my username is bellatrix_black_lestrange.

The morning of Bellatrix’s wedding was bleak and unseasonably chilly. Bellatrix woke up an hour before Druella would in to pull her out of bed, and wished that death had taken her overnight, letting her close her eyes for the last time, and never have to see married life. Her room was nearly bare. Bellatrix’s possessions had all been taken to Lestrange Manor, save for what she would need on the morning of the wedding, and the bed in the center of the room that she had slept in for the last time. She was eighteen, not even a year out of Hogwarts, and finally being sent to her pureblood duty.

Halloween, usually Bellatrix’s favorite holiday, would be forever marred. The Lestranges and Bellatrix’s own parents, Cygnus and Druella, and the Lestranges agreed on the grandest day of the Wizarding year to wed their eldest children in the hopes that there would be a pureblood heir to both their houses.

Bellatrix sat up and slid slowly out of bed and onto the hardwood floor. Her head and neck throbbed in pain, and her jaw was hurting from grinding her teeth in her sleep. She slipped into a short, silver dressing gown that was embroidered with black serpents, and knotted the tie at the waist. One of the elves had set up a table with some breakfast. Bellatrix was starving, but to spite her mother, refused to eat, taking only a cup of black coffee. She thought it was a mad injustice that she was not allowed any mead or whiskey until after the ceremony. However, Bellatrix intended to spend the majority of the reception drunk in order to make the rounds of greeting the relatives somewhat easier. She didn’t even care about the wedding night part. It was not the pain she was afraid of. Bellatrix had been with men before. She hated to know that Rodolphus would be the last. 

Bellatrix charmed her wild mess of thick, dark curls somewhat in place so she could show herself to her mother looking presentable. She kept her face blank, with only a hint of glower that could easily be mistaken for her usual bitterness. Even a look of perpetual anger did not ruin Bellatrix’s beauty, no matter how much she tried. She refused to be called beautiful. Bellatrix decided that she would rather die of spattergroit than live in everyone’s memory as “Bella the Beauty.”

Druella found Bellatrix sitting in the corner of the room, folded over herself, unmoving with her head resting between her knees. She wrapped her bony fingers around Bellatrix’s wrist, and with surprising force for someone her age, yanked her off the floor. Druella frowned at Bellatrix’s long, ragged fingernails, and quickly severed them off.

“Up with you.” She commanded. Druella was glad to be handing her difficult daughter over to another family. “I have one more day with you, and then you are all Rodolphus’s to deal with. Do try to and do your job.” Keeping a firm grip on Bellatrix’s wrist, Druella dragged her to the vanity table.

Bellatrix saw Narcissa lingering in the doorway, already in her bridesmaid’s dress, eyes narrowed in disgust, and was sick to her stomach. Thirteen year-old Narcissa was furious that such effort, attention, and expense was being wasted on someone who wanted none of it. Narcissa was forever envious that Bellatrix was the eldest girl, a woman grown, and by default, the pride of the Ancient and Most Noble house of Black. Yet, Bellatrix wanted none of the attention that came along with it, and cared only about being a powerful sorceress. Bellatrix would’ve gladly traded places with Narcissa. Narcissa dreamed of her wedding day with the same intensity that Bellatrix dreaded it.

Bellatrix turned away from Narcissa, clenching her jaw together. “And what is that job?” She growled through gritted teeth.

“To please your husband.” Druella deadpanned while working the horrible knots that Bellatrix had slept into her hair.

Bellatrix felt a white heat behind her eyes, and unable to control her rage, started using wandless magic. A crack ran down the vanity mirror, and then the entire pane of glass shattered and fell to the table with a crash. Used to setting right her daughter’s mistakes, Druella set the mirror right again.

Hours later, Bellatrix was sewn into a gown of midnight blue velvet with a skirt slashed with black satin, and a bodice of intricate black lacework dotted with beads of jet. The sleeves were long, and tapered to a point almost at the end of Bellatrix’s skirts. Druella laced Bella’s corset so tightly, she could scarcely breathe, nonetheless continue to fight her mother out loud. Druella pinned a wispy veil of silver cloth that looked as though it was made of spider silk over her daughter’s hair, which was for once, tamed. A silver diadem, an ancient relic of the House of Black, set with beads of onyx and black freshwater pearls was the last, and sat right above Bellatrix’s high, pale forehead.

Bellatrix stared at herself in the mirror. She still furrowed her brow in defiance, though the rest of her looked nearly pretty. Her mother had brushed a fine white powder over Bellatrix’s face, to blur the greenish-yellow remnants of the bruise she had given herself right across the cheek a week prior. Bella could never be Narcissa, and make herself look like a lovely, virginal, blushing bride. The dramatic deep blue of her dress robes, and the shimmer of the facets of jet complimented Bella’s dark, heavily-lidded eyes. She was no porcelain doll or fair lady, what with her tall frame and harshly beautiful features, but no one could argue that Bellatrix Black was not exquisite in her own way.

Cygnus, clad in sharp black dress robes, took his daughter by the arm and led her out the door of Black Manor. He was a stern, solemn man, and showed no emotion on the day he was to hand his eldest daughter over to another family. Cygnus was so stiff, Bellatrix looked soft in comparison. A charmed umbrella hovering overhead kept the rainwater off of Bellatrix. They entered the vast blue tents where sat all the worthwhile pureblood families in the Wizarding UK, plus the French Rosiers, and some Lestranges of Italy. Bella joined the end of the procession. She lowered her shoulders and held her head high, looking above the crowd’s heads. Bellatrix ignored her sisters in their silver-and-midnight blue bridesmaid’s dresses, watching with wide-eyed wonder. She stared straight at her husband-to-be, clad in black dress robes with embroidered detailing of Lestrange silver, and shot him a look of death. The walk was long, and all the while Bellatrix blocked out the music of the charmed, self-playing instruments, and was alone with her thoughts.

Bellatrix tried to cheer herself up. Even though she was being traded off to the Lestranges as a prized commodity of the Black family, she was being handed to the only Death Eater who was nearly as loyal as herself. The Dark Lord had even approved of the union. In fact, he had encouraged it. He wanted his two most devoted families to become one. Rodolphus was not the Dark Lord, he would never be. A close friend, a trusted partner, but never the one Bellatrix truly desired. His friends laughed that Lestrange was only himself when he was fighting or fucking—a quality that Bellatrix admired. He would look gorgeous standing next to his wife. They even had a similar dark, penetrating stare. But he was not the Dark Lord. 

Bellatrix hoped with her whole heart that her Lord would ask him to be his Queen. Voldemort, an accomplished Legilimens, even knew that. Bellatrix knew that he knew it, which burned her even more. Despite her devotion, despite her prowess as a warrior, and despite all she’d given her lord, Voldemort would not take her to wife. Bellatrix felt cast off, like Voldemort let her have a strong, handsome husband out of pity, as if he thought she was the kind of stupid girl who wanted nothing else.

When she reached the altar, Rodolphus gave Bellatrix an unapologetic smirk. His own friends had given him enough of a hard time about marrying the girl they all fantasized about. Ironically, Bellatrix had already given Rodolphus her honesty years ago, when they were fifth-years in school and their parents had told them of their arrangement. Neither wanted marriage, but they both secretly desired each other, and figured they would give their parents a figurative middle finger and not be virgins on their wedding night. Bellatrix had others in between, but they were all beneath her. Rodolphus was the only one she would ever consider a partner and equal.

They said the words politely, but there was fire behind both of their eyes. Bellatrix’s deep voice rang in harmony with Rodolphus’s. He was a perfect compliment to her, there was no doubt. The Dark Lord made Bellatrix forget Rodolphus, but as he slipped the ring on her finger, she remembered just how much she wanted him. When they were permitted to kiss, Bellatrix did so ardently, pressing against Rodolphus enough to make some elderly family members shake their head in disapproval.

The first half of the reception was dull, full of required courtesies and forced smiles. Bellatrix snuck off to greet her friends, Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Barty Crouch Jr. alone, leaving Rodolphus to his glass of wine. The three were sitting together, drinking heavily and making quiet, off-color jokes to make the long, formal affair somewhat bearable. Previously, Bellatrix would have been drinking and joking with them, much to her mother’s dismay.

“Dolohov, Crouch, Lestrange.” Bellatrix regarded them. They laughed at the sight of Bellatrix in fancy dress, and began to taunt her.

“I guess I have to address you as Madame Lestrange now.” Rabastan slurred. “Tomorrow morning, you need to owl me at once and tell me if my brother Roddy is any good in bed.”

“Well, he used to play Beater for Slytherin. He’s bound to bruise you, what with the heavy hand he has. Poor Mrs. Lestrange. He’ll fuck you bloody.” Dolohov japed, his friends were drunk enough to think that the funniest thing in the world, and erupted into peals of laughter.

Bellatrix snarled, reached for her wand that she had tucked into a silver holster at the side of her gown, and without uttering an incantation, unleashed upon them a terrible jinx that made their tongues swell, and their throats close. Bellatrix smiled to herself in satisfaction as they fumbled for their wands in purple-faced panic. Bellatrix stole Rabastan’s nearly full glass of absinthe, and downed it on the way back to Rodolphus’s side.

He grabbed her hand, which was even soft and small in comparison to his own. “We have to dance.” Rodolphus hissed. “If we don’t, they’ll just force us, and that’ll be embarrassing.”

Anger and the alcohol made Bellatrix’s cheeks burn red. Rodolphus wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. His arms were thick and strong, and Bellatrix could not slither out of his grip if she tried. Still, she would not admit to herself that she liked him there. 

Rodolphus was just as good as Bellatrix at dancing, which was not very good at all. She could never dance gracefully, or learn all the feminine arts as well as Narcissa and Andromeda could. Bellatrix was tall, strong, and built for fighting rather than dancing, her husband as well. She tried to channel lithe, delicate, and graceful Narcissa, but ended up getting caught in her skirts, leaving Rodolphus to set her roughly on her feet again. He grinned, and let his hand slide farther down her back than it should in mixed company. Bellatrix laughed deviously at their silent rebellion. She knew she would never learn to love her husband romantically, but they did make excellent partners in crime.

For once, Bellatrix let someone else lead. Rodolphus whipped her around dangerously, and dipped her so low he almost dropped her. She kept a tight grip on his shoulder, and barely noticed how her fingernails had pierced through his robes, and were now digging into bare flesh.

“Bella, you’re hurting me.” He growled, and then noticed that Bellatrix’s breaths were fast and shallow, and her eyes were widened in panic. Rodolphus reached down the back of her dress and grabbed at the laces of Bellatrix’s corset that her mother had tied cruelly tight. His hands were mannish and clumsy, and instead of loosening it carefully, he just snapped the strings right at the knot.

Able to breathe properly for the first time during the entire wedding, Bellatrix’s temper evened a little bit. When they sat down again, she even rested her head on Rodolphus’s shoulder and let his hand stray to her thigh under the table. The absinthe started to hit her, and Bellatrix flushed and started to feel more affectionate. She ran her long nails through her husband’s hair, massaging his head a little bit. 

They got up to dance some more. At this point, they were both relaxing into their roles at the wedding. The alcohol had softened Bellatrix’s hard edges a little bit. She enjoyed the way her skirt swirled when Rodolphus spun her. He had removed his velvet dress-robe coat and was just in a doublet and shirt. Rodolphus removed Bellatrix’s crown as delicately as he could, and shook her curls loose. Bellatrix smiled. Usually her hyena-smiles were more of a threat than anything else, but there was trust in this one.


	2. The Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected visitor arrives.

Bellatrix lay on the marriage bed in the center of the master bedroom of Lestrange manor, in nothing but a dark blue robe of light silk, waiting for her husband. The bed was huge, high, and had magnificent headboard and footboard of curled wrought-iron. It would be perfect for “playing.” The balcony doors were open. Moonlight and a cool breeze filled the space. She heard a noise behind her, and saw a shadow come into the room.

“Rodolphus…” she breathed.

The shadow cast on the wall grew larger until the figure turned around the bed to face Bellatrix. It was not him. She waited with baited breath while he removed his hood. It was the Dark Lord. He removed his cloak with a flourish. Bellatrix gasped and laughed pleasurefuly.

“My Lord.” She wondered.

“Bella.” He hissed. “I am going to take you, and we are going to show your new husband that you are first and foremost, mine.”

Bellatrix was, for once in her life, nervous around her Lord. She reminded herself that she was his favorite, his most loyal, and she would be his pet. Her long, elegant fingers flew to the knot in her robe, and she freed herself of the garment. It slid off of her pale curves and fell to the velvet duvet of the bed.

“Yes, my Lord.” Bellatrix submitted, and bowed her head dutifully. Though she had known a man in this way many times before, it was as though Bella was a virgin once again. She almost trembled like a school-aged girl would, but held her composure with every bit of her energy.

Lord Voldemort began to slowly and methodically undo the clasps of his robes, Bellatrix’s breath dropped in deeper as she watched him disrobe. She had fantasized about him in this state before, under the covers of her bed at Black Manor, but never seen it in the flesh. 

His skin was translucent pale, with blue veins creeping about underneath it. Lord Voldemort was changed from his mortal form, but vestiges of beauty still remained. His chest was chiseled and smooth, and his arms finely muscled. His hair was thinning and streaked with grey, but He looked like a waxen sculpture of an otherwise attractive man.

“Prepare yourself for me.”

She slid her own hand between her legs and began to massage her clit while looking up at him for approval.

At that moment, Rodolphus entered the bedroom. The second he saw the Dark Lord, he bowed. Then his eyes fell on his bed, where his wife lay while Voldemort watched her pleasure herself. For once in his life, Rodolphus had no idea what to do. The Dark Lord sensed this immediately.

“Stay, Rodolphus. You will watch me take your wife. Do so on your knees.” Voldemort commanded.

Rodolphus fell to the floor instantly, and tried to make eye contact with his wife. She was not looking in his direction at all, but rather up at the Dark Lord. Rodolphus’s wedding night was being taken away from him and there was not a thing he could do about it.

“Over.” He instructed. Bellatrix then complied. He slid a leather crop out of his long sleeve and dragged it over the length of her spine. Bellatrix arched into his touch. Facedown on the bed, she continued to finger herself as Voldemort started the lashing.

His crop bit the skin of her ass for the first time and Bellatrix moaned. Each lash was like a tiny orgasm, and she reveled in the pain—a sting, and a lovely burning sensation in its wake. So overloaded with pleasure, Bella began to tremble every time he struck her, so her Master struck harder. She met his every hit with a pleased whimper.

“Tell me and tell your husband. Are you my servant? Are you mine?” Voldemort demanded rather than asked.

Between pants Bella managed “I’m your servant. I am yours. The Dark Lord’s Servant.” Every inch of her flesh seemed to burn, and she pressed her sex harder as she swore her loyalty.

The Dark Lord took a fistful of her hair and pulled up Bellatrix’s head. “Correct.” He whispered in her ear. She shivered with glee.

He thrust her back down and began to tease her entrance with his hot, hard cock. Bellatrix was absolutely on fire. 

Please, please please. She thought. And Voldemort, the talented legilimens, absolutely heard her.

Not yet. You must serve me in other ways first. He spoke to her silently, and landed a hard slap with his hand on her now-red skin. Her Lord’s hands were cold as ice, and nearly scaled. He grabbed her ass and licked up and down her spine with a forked tongue. She arched into his touch. Her pleasure is white hot.

Voldemort turned Bellatrix over onto her back. Her chest rose and fell faster and faster in anticipation of his next move. She glowed with sweat, and her hard, pink nipples were rosebuds on the white snow of her skin. Bellatrix was a most beautiful bride, and it was quite a shame for Rodolphus that he couldn’t be the first to fuck the new Madame Lestrange.

The Dark Lord flicked a silver dagger towards Bellatrix. He climbed over her, sitting on her torso as he put the blade to her sternum, right between her breasts. He pressed the blade in, and a glistening garnet of blood was raised to the surface. Voldemort sucked this first drop of blood from the skin and tasted her for the first time. He began to carve a simple letter V. The brand was right over a bone, and the pain was immense. Bellatrix bit her lip to keep from crying out. She would not displease her Lord.

The brand was finished, and rivulets of blood ran down over Bellatrix’s stomach. “Clean her off.” Voldemort instructed to Rodolphus, as if he was an attendant, “with your tongue.” A specific instruction so he could not use magic.

Rodolphus knelt on the bed. Bellatrix was slick on her forehead, stomach, and between her legs. The Dark Lord was entirely spending her. He lapped up the blood, appreciating every taste of his wife. Rodolphus dragged her tongue over the undersides of her breasts, her stomach, and her hips. It was demeaning, truly, to be charged with that, and it was all to clear to Rodolphus that demeaning was exactly the point. He finished with a kiss right over the brand.

When he was done, she still bled though less profusely. Voldemort could have healed and cleaned her, but that work was to be left to the observer.

“Good, Bellatrix.” Voldemort approved and climbed onto the bed.

Bellatrix’s eyes fluttered open. He parted her thighs and squeezed his nails into them. She moaned with absolute need. The Dark Lord slid himself inside his servant. There’s a change in his attitude as he cradles her waist in his hands as if she is a treasure. He began to buck his hips slowly. Bellatrix propped herself on her elbows for leverage, and thrusted so he was deeper inside her.

Rodolphus’s eyes were cast down with embarrassment, and Voldemort sensed it immediately.

“Watch me while I take your wife.” He snapped.

Voldemort bit Bellatrix on the neck—her favorite place to be kissed, and she let out a high gasp. She wrapped her hands around his hard back and thrusted harder against him. The rubbing on her clit paired with his cock-ridge slipping in and out of her was almost too much. Her hopes and dreams were all coming to fruition. She could not imagine a better wedding night.

Bellatrix closed her eyes again and saw patterns of light behind her eyelids. She felt a white-hot coal at her feet and curled her toes under the pleasure. She began to shudder with arousal, on the very edge of orgasm. Lord Voldemort’s cock found that most sensitive nerve inside her, and with a few more strokes, Belllatrix screamed with delight. He pinched hard on her nipple and thrusted. She was immobilized with orgasm. Finally, Voldemort spilled his seed inside of her.

They were both finished. He pulled out and squeezed her sides, almost if to thank Bellatrix for a job well done (though he’d never say it out loud). She sat up languidly and began to kiss her lord on the chest, neck, and lips. Hot tears rolled out of her eyes as she smiled up at him.

“You may have your bride now. Do not come inside her. The only children she will have will be mine.” Voldemort dismissed and apparated out of the room. But truly, she was done for the night. All Bella wanted to do was roll over, sleep sweet dreams of her Master, and hope she was pregnant with his child.

When Rodolphus approached their marriage bed, Bellatrix turned over on all fours. She would take Rodolphus tonight, but not look upon his face. This way, she could pretend it was Her Lord again. They had fucked tons of times, and it just couldn’t be special with Rodolphus ever again. Even when he entered her, Rodolphus felt the seed of the other man inside her. Though emasculated and ashamed, he would have his wedding night after all. 

Bellatrix pushed him down onto the bed, and guided his cock inside of her. Rodolphus grabbed her around the hips and smirked, happy to finally get to enjoy his wife. Bella pressed her hands on her husband’s tanned chest as she rocked against him. Her stamina was not all gone. She was young, strong, and realized she could have no problem taking two men in one night. Rodolphus realized how proud he was of his wife for serving their Lord so well, so dutifully. Covered in sweat and dried blood, she was never more beautiful. 

EPILOGUE

 

Weeks later, Bellatrix sat down at her dressing table and pricked a drop of her blood into a potion that would tell her whether or not she had conceived of the Dark Lord. Rodolphus watched with bated breath, hoping with everything he had that it would not change color: a negative result. 

Instead, the liquid turned a bright emerald green, displaying a positive. Bella carried the heir of Slytherin and sole son of the Dark Lord inside of her. It could not be Rodolphus’s child, not after the Lord’s explicit instructions. He would know if he had finished in his wife, and it was best not to try his luck. Rodolphus tried to resolve that he would love the child as his son, but knew could not.

In the passing months, the child stole all the life from Bellatrix. Her face grew thinner, her cheeks sunk in. She felt faint all the time in a way that completely mellowed her out. Bella looked like the spectre of death, but felt so serene. The Dark Lord was with her always. She was happy.

In her sixth month, at tea with Narcissa, her time came. It was too early, and they were both in panic. Narcissa screamed for help as her sister clutched the sides of her chair while trembling and biting back tears.

Bella spent her labor in a room at Lestrange manor with only her husband. Her parents, in-laws, and sister waited outside while she screamed, cursed, and set the drapes on fire in her pain. All the while, Rodolphus held her hand. Knowing the child would die, he truly pitied his wife. Though he accepted that there was nothing to do but hold her hand and wait for the healer to announce the death.

After fourteen hours, Bellatrix had birthed a half-formed monster, a terrible, inhuman creature. It bore a terrifying resemblance to a snake; it had no nose, entirely white eyes, and a thin, bony body that was covered in a smattering of scales. Truly horrifying. Bella wouldn’t even look at it. Rodolphus asked for it to be taken away and destroyed at once.

The monster ruined her womb forever, and no children would ever come to the Lestranges again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing the Lestrange wedding. I wish there was more of the points of views of the Black family in the series. I love to explore the characterization of villains and minor characters. I hope you enjoyed my look into the lives of these Death Eaters.


End file.
